White Lie
by LaylaBinx
Summary: Hiding an injury from your older brother hardly ever works. Especially when it leaves you damn near bleeding to death in a diner bathroom stall. Hurt Sam! Semi-hurt Dean! Teenchesters! Dean-17 and Sam-13 :D
1. Julia

**Hello all!! Hope you're doing well!! This story started off as a one-shot but slowly evolved into a multi-chapter before I could stop it O.o Anyway, this is supposed to be the boy's first solo hunt (no parental guidance :P) so of course things are going to go horribly wrong lol. Hope you all like it!! :D**

**I own nothing!!**

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"Sam, move!!"

Sam managed to dodge to the side just as a very large, very heavy wooden desk slammed into the wall right where he had been standing. He remained crouched for a second, breathing hard from the near head-on collision. Large chunks of wood littered the floor around him, the destroyed desk creaking and groaning softly as it tried to maintain support of its weight. Finally, the center of the desk, which had been completely cracked, buckled under the strain and collapsed to a heap on the floor. Splinters showered all around Sam and wood dust clung to his clothes and hair.

Okay, so apparently their first solo hunt wasn't going too well. The spirit seemed much more violent than they had originally anticipated and was doing just about everything in her power to make the Winchesters a permanent part of the house she was slowly destroying. She had managed to break nearly every window in the house, over tuned the tables, and was moving onto to heavier and deadlier objects. Sam sighed heavily; this was going to be a long night.

Dean appeared at his side a second later, crouching beside him and grabbing him by the shoulders. When the desk had hit the wall, Dean had just enough time to see Sam go down and hade no idea whether he'd been hit or not. Upon seeing the younger man uninjured, he let out a sigh and shook his head. "You okay?" He asked anyway, brushing some wood shavings from Sam's t-shirt.

"Yeah." He stood slowly and brushed off his pants, looking up the stairs to where the spirit had last appeared. The woman's name had been Julia Murdoch and she had been murdered by her fiancé a little over fifteen years ago. Her body had never been discovered, in spite of the fact that the back yard had been completely over turned by the police in their initial investigation. Her fiancé managed to evade the police and disappeared somewhere in South America so justice was never served for Julia. Understandably, she was still very angry and tended to take out her rage on any male living in the house. The last couple had left abruptly, not even bothering to pack their belongings before leaving. The woman's husband had been pushed down the stairs and then beaten unconscious with a fire poker. They left that night, no boxes, no clothes, noting but what they had on them. So now the entire house was filled with projectile weapons and heavy objects that could be flipped or thrown at will.

"Stay close, alright?" Dean said, stepping in front of Sam protectively and holding his flashlight up so it shined across the staircase. This was the first hunt they had done alone; sure, their father was in the same state but he was about one hundred miles east of them, working on a possible werewolf case. He had entrusted Sam into Dean's care, trusting that his seventeen-year-old could handle just about anything that was thrown at him. He didn't know it would take on a literal meaning.

"Get out!!" A woman's voice screamed from somewhere up above them and Julia appeared at the top of the staircase, her eyes dark and threatening. Her long, blond hair hung around her shoulder loosely and the front of her nightgown was completely soaked in blood. A jagged, gaping hole had ripped through the silky fabric right where her heart should have been.

"Julia," Dean started, leveling his flashlight on her and watching as she shimmered briefly in the light. "We just want to help, alright? My brother and I have been doing this for a long time now, we know how to help you."

A dark look flashed across Julia's transparent face and she glared down at Dean. "I said get out!!" She screamed again, slamming a hand on the banister and causing it to crack in the middle. For a spirit, she was remarkably strong but with that much hatred built up, it only seemed natural she'd be able to project her energy a little more forcefully. Julia could push and throw things easily but she had to build up the energy for it so after each outburst she would vanish for about five or ten minutes before she was able to attack again.

Dean chanced a look behind him to make sure Sam was still there. "You still have the salt shells in your pocket?" He asked in a whisper, unsure whether or not Julia could hear them from where she was.

Sam nodded, digging into the pocket of his jacket and clutching two plastic shotgun shells. He knew that if they could get close enough, the salt may disband Julia long enough for them to find her body and do the necessary ritual so she could move on. The only problem was getting close; most spirits they'd dealt with in the past couldn't pick up and throw a desk across the room.

"She seems to be strongest near the stairs." Sam muttered behind Dean, nodding to where she had been standing a few minutes beforehand. Each strong attack had come from either on top of the stairs or the landing that opened up to the living room. The others had been significantly weaker, everything down stairs had seemed like a walk in the park compared to what happened when she was on the upper floor. That meant there was good chance her body had been hidden inside the house, possibly under the floorboards or in the wall somewhere.

Dean nodded in agreement and looked back up the staircase. "We need to get up there." He said, knowing full well that would be a lot easier said than done. Going into the spirit's 'comfort zone' as it was sometimes known was like walking into a wolf's den with a steak tied around your neck.

The window's rattled upstairs, those that weren't broken were surely doomed by now. The air felt noticeably colder the closer the got to the stairs and the banister that curved up the length of the stairs felt like it was covered in condensation.

"Okay, here's the plan." Dean said, glancing over his at Sam once more. "Next time she attacks, we make a run for it upstairs and try to corner her. If we can catch her before she has another bitch fit, we may be able to disband her for a while." Sam nodded as he heard the plan and waited for Dean's signal.

They didn't need to wait long. A few seconds later, Julia appeared again, her face twisted in a mix of rage and sadness. "Get out!!" She screamed, all the picture frames hanging along the stairs shattering and falling to the ground. She screamed again but it was lost in a tremor that shook the entire house to its foundation. Then, just as quickly as it happened, Julia disappeared in a shimmer of grey light.

"Go!" Dean whispered, racing up the stairs with Sam right behind him. The floorboards creaked and groaned, shuddering with Julia's pent up rage. They reached the flat and pressed against the wall, not too eager to be thrown through the banister if they could help it. Dean had a shotgun pressed against his hip and Sam had a pistol hidden within the folds of his jacket. Neither would be much use against a being that essentially had no solid form but it offered a sense of protection either way. The air felt heavy and thick with the smell of ozone. Everything was silent for several minutes; no movement, no screaming, nothing.

Sam shifted toward the bedroom door, peeking inside. The room had been completely destroyed, the mattress flipped and the comforter shredded. Glass littered the floor from shattered picture frames and the walls looked like Wolverine had been let loose inside. Still, this didn't appear to be the place where Julia had been killed; the hallway and the staircase still seemed to be her favorite place to be.

There was a sudden snap from the top of the staircase, like the very atmosphere had been ripped open at that moment. Julia appeared once more, her eyes blazing with murderous fury. "Get out!!" She screamed again, a heavy ceramic vase lifting itself from a nearby table and flying across the room.

Sam realized instantly that he wouldn't be able to get out of the way in time. The vase was coming too far, too fast and there was no way he'd be able to avoid a direct hit. Taking a breath, Sam braced himself as the vase collided head-on, knocking him to the ground in a heap.

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**Hehe, there ya go!! First chapter!! :D Poor Julia, I feel really bad for her but she is kinda bitchy in this O.o I can't blame her though, I think I'd be pretty put out if I had been murdered by my fiance too. Hope you liked it!!**


	2. Going Down In Flames

**Hello all!! Okay, so I normally don't like to do convenient things for the boys but considering the crap they've gone through in the past two chapters, convenience seemed necessary. The hammer is convenient, lol just wanted to get that out. Hope you all like it!! :D**

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Sam blinked up to the ceiling, wincing as the feeling came back into his body. He could feel the carpet under his shoulders, shattered ceramic outlining his body and covering him in a fine layer of dust. Everything hurt and he felt like been run over by a tank; each breath felt heavy and awkward. Blood oozed down one side of his neck. He blinked again and tried to push himself up, knowing Dean would be worried sick if he wasn't in the middle of ghost battle with Julia. Something heavy was sprawled across his chest, pinning him to the floor, and for the first time Sam looked down. "Oh God, Dean!"

The older boy had taken the hit instead, a jagged, bloody gash slicing through the skin at his hair line. Blood streaked his face down to his jaw, dripping a little further and landing on Sam. He moaned softly in the back of his throat at the sound of his name but he was nowhere near conscious.

"Dean…!" Sam begged, shaking his brother by the shoulder gently. "Dean!" It wasn't having much of an affect on him; that vase had weighed at least five pounds all by itself and the fact that it had been hurtled across the room like a Frisbee meant that it had provided a pretty good blow to the head.

Sam looked across the room to where Julia had last been standing. He wasn't sure how long they'd both been on the floor but meant there was probably only a few minutes before she reappeared. And that was if they were lucky which, by Sam's outlook on the evening, they weren't. He needed to get Dean some help, fast, but he also knew that if they left now, they probably wouldn't be able to come back. Considering how much more violent Julia was getting by the minute, another visit may end in the death of both of them. With a grunt, Sam pushed himself into a sitting position, cradling his older brother carefully to prevent the obvious damage from getting any worse.

"S'm…" Dean mumbled, squeezing his already closed eyes shut a little tighter and wincing in pain.

"Shh…it's okay…" Sam whispered in return, pulling off his jacket and pressing one of the sleeves to the cut. It didn't appear very deep, head wounds are notorious bleeders, but the unconsciousness was a possible indication of a concussion which meant a hospital was probably their next stop. He carefully moved Dean away from the banister in case Julia decided to knock him through it and laid him next to the wall. He pressed a little harder on the wound, apologizing softly when Dean groaned again, and tucked the rest of the jacket behind his head. The first aid skills their father had forced into them were coming back and Sam was stuck in autopilot now.

There was a ripping noise a few feet away in front of the stairs like a zipper being pulled. The air got colder and the banister began to tremble ever so slightly. Sam grabbed one of the salt shells from the jacket and stood slowly, positioning himself in front of Dean protectively and keeping his back to the wall. He was alone in this now; he had to keep his brother safe and take on a really pissed of ghost at the same time. No problem.

Julia appeared closer than he expected and swiped at him with her hand. "Get out!!" She screamed, her fingers hooking into the collar of Sam's shirt and slinging him across the hall.

Sam collided with the wall sharply, wincing as the air was knocked out of him for second time that night. The window above him trembled, broken glass rattling in the open pane. Sam forced himself to stand, squaring his shoulders and shrugging off the dull ache in his back. The woman glared at him, obviously not concerned with Dean anymore considering the older boy was still struggling toward consciousness. Relieved that his brother appeared to be out of harm's way for the moment, Sam returned his gaze to the spectral woman and met her with a glare of his own.

Julia grit her teeth and lunged at him again, grabbing him by the shirt and slinging him toward the open window. Sam tried to grab her arms but his hand passed straight through; the air where her arm should have been was damp and icy like fog in the middle of winter. With that plan falling flat, Sam felt a moment of weightlessness as he was tossed out of the broken window and landed hard on the roof. His right arm hooked inside the window frame, preventing him from rolling off the roof and falling to the driveway two stories below. Broken glass ripped through fabric and skin, slicing deeply and causing blood to rush to the surface. Sam clenched his teeth, biting away the pain, and focused on hanging on. The roof was steep, dropping at a sharp angle straight to the ground, and letting go did not seem to be the best plan at the time.

Julia grabbed his hand, trying to pry his fingers off the window pane. Sam simply tightened his hold, wincing as the glass cut deeper. This wasn't good; she was getting stronger and it was taking longer for her to dissipate between each attack. He needed to finish this soon or there would be no one left to do it. He'd only grabbed one shell so there was only one shot at this. Forcing himself to keep a grip on the window, Sam turned suddenly and tossed to rock salt into Julia's face.

Julia screamed in surprise and outrage, covering her face with her hands and backing away from the window. She began to flicker, her shape fading in and out in the darkened hallway, then, all at once, she was gone.

Sam waited for a few seconds until he was sure she was gone for the moment before pulling himself back inside and dropping to the ground. He clenched his teeth and looked at his wounded wrist, cursing softly as he did. The skin was ripped and torn in several places, long, vertical cuts from his swing out onto the roof, and at least three were deep enough to gush freely without pressure. The sight of so much blood made him a little dizzy but he pushed it back and climbed to his feet. There was a pillow case at the entrance of the bedroom and since no one was here to protest, Sam grabbed it and ripped it at the seam, pulling long strips away one at a time. He wrapped the strips around his wrist tightly, ignoring the way the blood reappeared after wrap of the fabric. He tied it over the deeper cuts, hoping to cut off the circulation long enough finish the job.

Dean had managed to regain consciousness and was working at standing up when Sam came back into the hallway. "Damn…ghost bitch can throw a punch…" He muttered, wiping the excess blood from his forehead with one hand.

"Dean, maybe you should sit back down." Sam said, noticing the unsteady sway his brother had developed while upright.

"Nah, I'm alright…just dizzy for a minute." He looked at Sam and squinted for a second. "You alright? Did she get you at all?"

Sam unconsciously pressed his injured arm a little closer and nodded. Yeah, I'm alright. Just a little banged up is all." He couldn't tell Dean about the injury, not yet at least. There was still way too much to do without him worrying over Sam. Besides, this hunt was important to Dean; it was their first solo mission after all. If he found out about it, he would probably tell their father and that would be the end of the solo hunts for a while. Not only that but he didn't want their dad to take it out on Dean because Sam had been careless; that wasn't fair. The cuts didn't look too bad after all; the bleeding should stop on its own in a few minutes.

"Sammy?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow slightly at his brother's silence.

"Oh, sorry. I'm fine, just trying to think of where Julia would be buried…" Sam muttered, scanning the hallway carefully. This was the place where she was most powerful so it should be somewhere nearby- "Dean…" Sam said, pointing to an area a few feet away.

The older boy turned, looking to the spot Sam had been pointing to. In the middle of the floor, a few feet away from the top of the stairs, was a darkened patch of carpet. They were both certain it hadn't been there before, at least not that they had noticed. The air around the area felt noticeably colder as if an air vent were right above them. Sam grabbed his jacket from the floor and slipped it back on, goose bumps raising across his skin.

"Look's promising." Dean said, dropping to one knee slowly and taking a deep breath against the dizziness that assaulted him. He pulled a pocket knife from his jacket and sliced through the carpet, peeling it back with a sharp rip. The floorboards were stained black, the wood rotted and damp in just that one spot. It stretched about three feet across, diagonally, and the air got a little colder as he tried to wedge his knife in between the boards. Realizing that wasn't going to work, Dean sighed and sat back on his knees. "We need to rip up these boards…" He mumbled though he knew Sam understood.

Sam nodded and looked around the hall for something that could assist them with the task. Something metal caught his eye from the bedroom and he turned, noticing a hammer propped against the dresser. He grabbed it, wincing a little as the added pressure caused his wounded wrist to burn, and walked back over to where Dean was kneeling. Without waiting for an invitation, he dropped to his knees and began ripping away the boards, tossing the splintered wood to one side. After a few minutes, a big enough hole had been made where he and Dean could reach beneath the board and pull upwards. The boards broke away easily after that, the wood rotten and soft.

Sam kept his mind on the task at hand and not the fact that he could feel blood was slowly seeping through his makeshift bandages, soaking the cloth to his skin. He hoped the jacket was enough to cover the growing stain on his sleeve.

Finally, after a few more minutes of ripping away boards, a black suitcase appeared resting on its side a few feet below the floor. The zippers were rusted, an obvious sign it had been here for a long time, and the smell emanating from the hole was vaguely decayed. The bag opened easily enough with the knife and the skeletal remains of Julia Murdoch were revealed.

With a soft sigh, Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out a Ziploc bag of rock salt. He sprinkled it inside the suitcase, covering Julia completely, and then around the suitcase for good measure. Sam tossed him a matchbook (he still wasn't sure why his thirteen year old brother carried matches around in his pocket; probably a habit developed by their profession) and he caught it, striking one so the flame glowed bright in the darkened house. "Sorry sweetheart." Dean muttered as he dropped the match into the suitcase. The blaze ignited almost instantly, engulfing the material and spreading through to the floorboards. "Come on Sammy, go time." Dean said, standing quickly and making a run for the stairs, Sam right behind him. The two ducked out of the house, disappearing into a back alley and walking away. Behind them, the house had completely caught fire, the flames rising higher and higher into the night sky. True, couple who had been living in the house would be pissed about their belongings being burned but it was the only way to ensure that Julia's spirit hadn't latched onto some other object in the house. Besides, that house was hers first and now maybe she could finally rest in peace.

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**Yay!! Okay, so arson may not have been the orginal plan but it works right?? Hope you enjoyed it!! :D**


	3. Bravado

**Hi guys!! This chapter came out much shorter than I wanted it to but it was either going to be this one or the next chapter so I voted this one. It was an executive decision, I regret nothing!! Hehe, anyway you'll notice I have this thing with the Red Sox...I'm realy not a Red Sox fan nor am I baseball fan for that matter but they were the only team I could think of off the top of my head :D Hehe, poor Sam is still trying to be strong...that won't last long if I have anything to say about it :P Hope you like it!!**

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"So that went well." Dean mumbled as they walked, brushing off a few remaining splinters from his jacket. They were about two blocks away from the house by now, the wail of a fire truck piercing the neighborhood around them.

"I think our definitions of "well" differ just a bit." Sam chuckled half-heartedly, dodging a trashcan and reappearing a few seconds later. "If "well" means we didn't end up in the morgue by the end of the night, then yes, I guess we did terrific."

"Smartass." Dean muttered, running a hand through his hair slowly. He winced as his fingers brushed over the swollen edges of the cut at his hairline. The bleeding had stopped but the wound was still raw and sore, a dark, ugly bruise forming already. Digging into one of the pockets in his jacket, he found an old, tattered baseball cap and shoved it onto his head, gritting his teeth against the pain. He'd learned early on that a good hat could serve as the best form of incognito. And besides, anyone who wasn't a Red Sox fan was a communist anyway.

"You know, we should probably head to a hospital." Sam suggested as they rounded another corner into a larger neighborhood. "That probably needs stitches and covering it with a hat won't make it disappear, as much as you want it to."

"No way Sammy." Dean said, shaking his head adamantly and wincing at the dizziness it caused. "Getting my ass kicked by a pissed off ghost was torture enough for one night."

"Dean…you were out of it for like, five minutes." Sam protested weakly. His brother needed a hospital but he would be damned if he would admit it first. "And you know as well as I do that loss of consciousness after a blow to the head is almost a sure sign of a concussion."

"Alright Mr. Textbook, anything else you want to recite to me?" Dean snapped, scowling as Sam's geeky know-it-all side began to show. He sighed after a second and shook his head. "Sammy, I'm fine really. If I start to feel not fine, I'll be sure to let you know, alright?"

"Yeah, yeah…" Sam mumbled, trudging forward. In all honesty, he could probably use a hospital as well. The cuts on his wrist had been bleeding steadily since they left the house and he was sure the inside of his sleeve was soaked with blood by now. The gravitational pressure from keeping his arm down by his side had become painful so instead, he'd tucked his hand inside his pocket and walked with his elbow sticking out as if nothing were bothering him. Deep down, he knew the cuts needed to be treated but he also needed to prove himself to both his father and Dean. This being their first hunt alone was a big deal for his older brother and could mean the difference between them getting to do more alone and having to tag along on missions with their father. And, as much as the boys loved hanging with their ex-Marine father, getting to branch out and do things their own way was a little more appealing. However, a trip to the hospital their first night alone wouldn't be a very good indication of their skills just yet so Sam kept his mouth shut.

Noticing the sudden silence of his brother, Dean glanced at him from the corner of his eye and raised an eyebrow on the uninjured side. "Why so quiet Silent Bob?"

Sam looked up quickly and shook his head. "No reason, just thinking."

"Hmm…that's new…" Dean smirked, noticing for the first time Sam had one hand tucked inside his jacket. "You hurt your hand?"

"Hmm?"

"Your hand." Dean said, nodding to the hidden appendage.

"Oh…" Sam looked at his injured arm and shook his head, blinking a little as the edges of his vision darkened just slightly. If Dean could handle his injury then he could certainly handle a few cuts. "It's nothing. I just banged it up a little during the fight." He lied, pulling his hand from the pocket and letting it hang by his side again casually. Thankfully, his sleeves were navy blue and it was dark enough that Dean didn't see the streams of blood weaving through Sam's fingers.

"Want me to look at it?" Dean asked, still feeling a little guilty for snapping at his brother earlier.

"Nah, its okay. Just a few scratches…" Sam said, trying to emulate his older brother's easy going attitude toward the evening.

Dean watched him for a few seconds, not saying anything, before he finally nodded. "Alright…if you're sure…" Come to think of it, Sam had been favoring that arm when they were about to leave the house. But if said he was fine then Dean would believe him; to an extent. The big brother senses were slightly on alert but he figured it was just from all the activity that had taken place earlier in the evening.

Figuring a change of atmosphere was probably in order, Dean clapped Sam on the back and steered him toward a more crowded area of the neighborhood. "How about a burger? My treat." He said, pushing Sam along so the younger boy didn't really have a chance to protest.

"What is it with you and food?" Sam muttered as Dean lead him in the direction of a 24-hour diner at the edge of the block.

"Oh come on, you always feel better with a full stomach." Dean shot back, stepping over the curb and dragging Sam along by the scruff of his collar. "Now quit your bitchin' and let's eat."

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**Yay!! The injury is getting worse!! ( I accidently spelled "getting" with four t's the first time around O.o) More to come!! :D**


	4. Slow Fall

**Hi guys!! Poor Sam just won't admit he needs help =( Partially because I won't let him (sadist) Hehe, hope you enjoy it!! :D**

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The lights in the diner were harsh; some of the bulbs had just been changed, casting an almost neon glare across the floor and some of the others were about two or three seconds away from burning out completely. The air smelled like pancakes and burgers, an odd but not all together unwelcome combination. Several booths lined the walls and a few free tables were set up in the open floor space, pictures of WWII airplanes and old snapshots taken throughout the years hanging on the walls. A long, flat bar sat in front of the kitchen, bolted stools perched in front of the bar with a couple of complimentary newspapers resting on the top. A sign in front of the register said 'Please Seat Yourself' so Dean steered Sam to a booth a few tables away from the door and fell into the seat.

"Ugh…remind me never to try to reason with a pissed off female spirit again…" Dean muttered, rubbing the aching wound through his hat. The inside fabric felt sticky and stiff with dried blood but he wasn't about to take it off, especially since the table full of cute girls a few booths away from them happened to see them walk in. He flashed them one of his award-winning grins and chuckled as the girls burst into a flurry of whispers and giggles. Sure, they may be a year or so younger than he was, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to have fun flirting across the room. His table companion was unusually quiet and Dean looked up, frowning a little. "Sammy?"

Sam blinked and looked up, his blank gaze on the table top broken by his brother's voice. "Yeah man, that's awesome…" He answered quickly, pretending he'd been paying attention the entire time.

Dean's frown deepened and he looked at the younger boy carefully. "Sam, nothing I said just now would have warranted 'awesome' as the primary answer choice." He leaned a little closer, noticing for the first time how ashen his brother was. "Dude, you okay? You're really pale…"

Sam nodded and squeezed the bridge of his nose with the fingers of his uninjured hand. "Yeah, I'm just really worn from the hunt, you know…?" He tried to sound tired, which wasn't all that hard, and forced a smile. "I'm fine, really."

"Sammy." Dean's voice took on that 'lie-to-me-and-I'll-kill-you-all-kinds-of-dead' tone he usually used when their dad wasn't around. The rules of the hunt hadn't changed just because their father was a couple hundred miles away; Dean was still in charge and that meant leading the hunt and taking care of Sam. It didn't bother him, he's been looking after Sam since he was a baby, but now that the father endowed authority was added to it, the instructions took on a whole new meaning. "You better not be lying to me."

Sam shook his head, ignoring the way the edges of his vision clouded for a few seconds and looked back at his older brother. "Dean, I'm fine." He assured, leaning back in the booth and resting the back of his neck against the seat. "I'm not the one who took a vase to the face." He pointed out, narrowing his eyes in that annoying way he did when he knew Dean couldn't argue the point any further. "Really, I think I just need some food and sleep and I'll be fine…" He continued, sitting up a little more as the waitress came by their table.

"Hello boys." The woman greeted cheerfully, laying down a menu and two sets of silverware on the table in front of them. She looked about 70, with white hair piled on top of her head and a pencil sticking out of the side of it. She wore pink rimmed glasses and nametag that read 'Doris'. "Can I start ya'll off with something to drink?" She asked, pulling a thin notepad from her pocket and flipping it open.

"Coffee, please." Dean answered politely, winking at one of the girls at the other table. He'd learned early on that drinking coffee made you appear older and more mature, even though the coffee they served in most of the diners they visited tasted like little more than hot water with a teaspoon of coffee grounds tossed in for flavor. Still, coffee seemed good right now and he smiled at Doris.

Doris smiled back and wrote down the order, turning to Sam and frowning a little. "You look like you could use some sleep, sugar." She said, her voice drawling a little with concern.

Sam flushed in embarrassment and smiled. "Long day." He lied, hoping she would buy it. When she nodded he let out an internal sigh of relief. "Can I just have water?" He was unusually thirsty for some reason, the back of his throat feeling like it was lined with sand and cardboard.

Doris nodded again and smiled at them. "Alright boys, I'll have that right out to you." She handed them two menus from a neighboring table and disappeared back into the kitchen.

Dean watched Sam for a minute, trying to decided whether he would have better luck coaxing or beating the truth out of him. It was obvious something was wrong that he wasn't telling him about but he couldn't figure out what. He didn't want to be pushy and overbearing but if Sam had hurt himself while on the hunt, he definitely needed to know.

The younger boy had immersed himself in studying every word and punctuation mark in the menu, anything that would help him avoid eye contact with his brother. Dean was smart and he knew that if he looked bad enough for the waitress to point it out, then his brother was definitely on to him by now. _How to avoid this…How to avoid this…_Sam thought, memorizing the ingredients of a Chef Salad. He definitely, absolutely, did not want to go to the hospital tonight. Probably his only saving grace at the moment was a pretty redheaded girl sitting a few tables away mentioning something about the 'hot guy in the Red Sox hat' to her friends. That worked. Almost immediately, Dean shifted his attention to the girl's table and grinned again, causing all of them to blush and giggle. That offered him just the exit he needed.

"I'll be right back." Sam said, standing a little too quickly and gripping the edge of the table inconspicuously to keep from falling over.

"Where you going?" Dean asked, breaking eye contact with the girls to look at his brother.

"Bathroom. I need to wash my hands…" It was partially true; washing the dried blood from his hands would be more convincing when he told Dean he was fine.

Dean frowned, watching him carefully for a minute. "Alright." He said finally, glancing to the menu on Sam's side of the table. "Want me to order for you?"

"Sure…" Sam said, fighting to keep his knees from locking right there and sending him tumbling to the ground. "I'll get a burger…no tomatoes."

Dean nodded. "Alright man, you got it." He said, eyeing his brother once more. "Don't take too long alright?" He said as Sam started to walk toward the bathroom. In retrospect, he wasn't sure why he'd said that, maybe just something else to add.

**OOOOO**

Sam stumbled into the bathroom, his face damp with sweat. The simple act of walking was exhausting and his legs felt shaky and weak as he stopped to rest against the bathroom wall. Luckily, there was no one else using the facilities at the moment so he was alone to check his injuries.

The sleeve of his jacket was completely soaked with blood, the fabric nearly black under the bright lights. The pillowcase was also soaked, alternating between deep maroon and bright red in the wraps and folds of the makeshift bandage. His fingers were numb, the nail beds pale and bloodless as he inspected his hand. The bandages needed to come off, he knew, but it was going to be hard to find something to replace them.

_If I wet them, they may be able to last long enough for me to get something else…_Sam thought, blinking rapidly as the walls began to turn darker around him. He shook his head, swaying against the sink, and took a deep breath. The air felt heavier and there was an annoying buzz in his ears, like the room was filled with bees.

Carefully, Sam began to unwrap his wrist, wincing as each bandage removed pulled away the thin scabs that had been trying to form over the cuts. The wounds began to bleed freely once more and a wave of vertigo hit Sam heavily, causing him to grip the sink tightly in an effort to stay upright. He'd always been slightly queasy at the sight of blood but it had never been this bad before.

He tried to turn on the sink but missed completely, his hand bumping uselessly against the faucet. Everything swayed, the world spinning in the opposite direction and causing the room to tilt and shift around him like a fun house. There was a dull, metallic taste in the back of his mouth and Sam rested his back against the wall, trying to ground himself against the cold tiles.

His knees finally crumpled beneath him and he slid to the ground, head lolling to the side slightly. Why couldn't he get up…? He pushed his hands against the floor, trying to urge his body back into an upright position but his injured wrist protested and he collapsed back to the ground, breathing heavily.

It was quiet, the soft music over the diner's speakers fading into a dull hum. Sam desperately wanted to get off the floor but he didn't have the energy to sit on his own, let alone stand. If it hadn't been for the wall behind him, he was pretty sure he would have been lying on the ground completely. Suddenly he felt warm and tired, more tired than he'd ever felt in his life.

_Maybe if I close my eyes for just a minute…I'll feel better…_Sam thought, unable to keep his eyes from closing and the world from fading around him.

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**Poor thing =( I'm really sorry about this cliffhanger as well!! I'm going out of town this weekend and wanted to post this before I left so I should be able to update again sometime Sunday!! See you soon!! :D**


	5. Blood Stained Tiles

**Ack!! I'm so sorry!! I know I promise to have this up Sunday night but I didn't get back home until almost midnight O.o But here it is, a new shiny chapter for all of you to enjoy!! Hope you like it!! :D**

**Also, really lame chapter title. I'm sorry...O.o**

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Doris stopped back by the table after a few minutes, a cup of coffee in one hand and glass of water in the other. She set them down carefully and smiled at Dean, pulling out her notepad once more and waiting patiently for him to order. He kept it simple: two burgers, one with no tomatoes. He knew Sam was weird about tomatoes so he made extra emphasis on the removal of them, not really wanting to deal with a bitching little brother for the rest of the evening. After writing down the rest of the order, Doris smiled again and pulled a bottle of ketchup from her apron pocket, placing it on the far side of the table.

Dean waited until she left before he pulled out the map again. He spread it across the table carefully, scanning the red circled cities and towns in the area. Luckily, there weren't that many hot spots in this part of the state but there were a few incidents requiring their "unique" skills. To most people, having a road map out of the table of a diner wouldn't look very out of place; getting lost while on a road trip was pretty commonplace for towns like this. However, when your map is covered in strange ancient phrases and even stranger symbols, especially when the town you're in is circled in blood red marker, holding it out on a table for the world to see isn't the best thing to do.

Dean scanned the map for a few more minutes, taking a sip of the coffee and shrugging when he discovered it really wasn't as bad as he'd been expecting. He took out a red marker from his jacket pocket and scribbled something along one side of the note. Dean could speak Latin fluently, a talent he didn't reveal to anyone outside their family, and usually wrote his notes in the language to avoid the possibility of someone reading over his shoulder. Sam was good at memorizing spells and incantations but he was better at the mathematical and historical aspect of what they did. So, as long as Sam was willing to do the research, Dean would happily go on speaking and writing in a dead language that no one used anymore.

_I need to call Dad…_He thought, pulling the cell phone from his pocket and flipping it over a few times in his hand. He hesitated, knowing full well their father would want a detailed account of the hunt; something Dean couldn't give since he'd been knocked unconscious through part of it. He'd have to wait for Sam to get back before he called so he could fill in the blanks. He set the phone next to his coffee cup, twirling it in a circle absently as he continued to glance over the map.

There was a noise up ahead, the sound of chairs being pushed in and glasses being set down. Dean looked up to see the girls from the other table standing and gathering their things, still winking and smiling at him as they did. Their flirtation was adorable and Dean didn't let it go unnoticed. He winked right back and returned every smile, matching the brilliance in a flash. A few minutes later, the girls walked beside his table, purposefully not looking at him but grinning at the same time. One of them, the redhead, dropped a scrap of paper on his table as she passed, innocently looking away just as he saw it. Once she'd passed, Dean smirked and picked up the paper, unfolding it carefully and reading over what was written inside. _'Hey Cutie! Bethany 555-1829'_. The words were scrawled in elegant cursive, a cute little heart scribbled on the corner along with a few other things that had been scratched out by either her or her friends.

Dean smiled and looked up just in time to wink at Bethany. The girl blushed to her hair line and her friends laughed, grabbing her by the arm and dragging her outside after they'd paid for their meal. With one final glance, both Bethany and table full of girls disappeared into the parking lot outside. The restaurant seemed much quieter now.

Doris returned a few minutes later, two plates of food balanced on one arm as she set down some rolled up silverware. She set the food down carefully and looked at the still empty booth where Sam had been sitting. "You're missing one." She pointed out needlessly and Dean nodded, glancing across the booth.

"He went the restroom." He explained, hoping that saying it out loud would get rid of the awful feeling in the pit of his stomach. It felt heavy, like someone had placed a bowling ball on top of his diaphragm.

Doris seemed to think for a minute before she sighed softly, blowing a loose strand of hair from her face. "Son, listen, I have kids of my own and grandchildren so I know when something isn't right." She glanced absently to the restrooms. "Now I know it's not any of my business but I think there may be something wrong with your friend that he may not be telling you." She looked like she wanted to say something more but didn't. With a somewhat forced smile, she shrugged and stepped away from the table. "Let me know if you need anything else, okay?"

Dean nodded, staring blankly at his food. Come to think of it, Sam had been gone for a while; longer than it would usually take to do your business and come back to the table. That's it, time to go see what's up with Sammy…Dean stood slowly and made his way across the restaurant, disappearing into the hall where the bathrooms were.

"Sammy…?" Dean called as he stood outside the door. He hoped he would hear a response, a "yes?", a "What?", a "Dean, go away you're a pervert", anything that would indicate that Sam was alright behind the door. But instead he heard nothing but the soft jazz playing over the diner's speakers. Taking a slow breath, Dean pushed open the door and stepped into the bathroom. His stomach immediately dropped to the floor. Slumped against the wall, blood oozing from deep gashes in his wrist, was his baby brother.

"Jesus Christ, Sammy!!" Dean choked out, dropping to his knees next to the younger boy and cupping his face gently. "Sam? Sammy, can you hear me?" He asked, his hands trembling as he spoke.

Sam made a soft noise in the back of his throat, something almost like a groan, but he didn't open his eyes. His face was unnaturally pale, hair clinging to his forehead from the cold sweat that had soaked his clothes. His breathing was shallow, almost undetectable, and it was hard to see the rise and fall of his chest. Hesitantly, Dean pressed his fingers to the side of his brother's throat, feeling the rapid, weak pulse against his fingertips.

"Oh my God…Oh my God…" Dean mumbled, pulling his limp little brother into his arms and cradling him close. He shrugged out of his jacket and pressed the thick fabric over the wounds tightly. There was so much blood…too much of it…staining the floor…staining his clothes…draining from Sam's body with each passing second. "God dammit Sam…" Dean growled, pressing a little harder against the wound. "Why didn't you say something…?!"

He glanced to the door, realizing with dread that he'd left his phone on the table. _Shit shit shit…_He clenched his teeth at the stupid mistake and looked back down at Sam. His brother wasn't even attempting consciousness anymore, his body completely limp and unresponsive. "Dammit Sam…" He growled again, tears prickling the corners of his eyes.

"Hey!!" Dean yelled as loud as he could, hoping he could get someone's attention. "I need some help in here!! Please!!" The bleeding wouldn't stop, soaking through the fabric at an alarming rate. His baby brother was dying in his arms. "Please!! I need help!!"

The door pushed open slowly and a worker from the kitchen peaked inside. When he saw the two boys on the floor, he paled and swung the door open wide. "What the hell-?!"

"Please!!" Dean cut him off, shifting so he was facing the man better. "My brother's hurt!! Call 911!!"

The worker didn't waste anytime and turned, bolting for the nearest phone. Dean could faintly hear the man speaking to an operator, giving the location and address of the diner. It sounded terribly far away, the words bouncing around in his head as he continued to stare down at his lifeless brother.

"Just hang on, Sammy…" He whispered, cradling the younger boy close and holding him against his chest. "You can't give up now, kiddo…you hear me, Sam?" Dean continued, rocking gently to try to prevent the shakes that had suddenly assaulted him. He was trembling all over, trying to hold onto Sam and keep it together long enough for the ambulance to get here. "This was our first hunt Sam…we've still got plenty of monsters to fight…" The tears were falling freely now and Dean tightened his hold as his voice cracked in the back of his throat. "Please Sammy…not yet…not now…"

The worker ran back in a few seconds later with a first aid kit and began to hastily bandage the jagged wounds. There was a wail of sirens somewhere outside and a few minutes later the paramedics burst into the restroom. They gathered Sam on the backboard, asking several questions and spitting out his vital signs as they worked. Dean felt himself be pulled to his feet by one of the paramedics, the man asking him a few questions about his brother's injuries.

Dean couldn't answer, his throat felt dry and raw. Blood stained his hands and his shirt…Sam's blood. Suddenly it was too much and he found himself on his knees in front of one of the toilets, retching violently into the bowl. Everything felt fuzzy, like being dropped into a bag of cotton balls, and he was vaguely aware of the same paramedic calling for assistance from another. Another pair of arms grabbed him from behind and he was dragged from the restroom by two of the paramedics. They were asking him questions as they walked, did he know his name, what was today's date, did he know where he was, etc. Words tumbled from his mouth but he was pretty sure none of it made sense. The only thing that did make sense was the fact that if he had been a few minutes later, Sam wouldn't be visiting the hospital, he'd be visiting the morgue. Another wave of nausea washed over him and he was loaded into the ambulance as well.

Dean was aware enough to look back at the diner briefly, wondering how in the hell he was going to explain this to their father. His eyes met Doris's for a short moment and she watched him with concern evident in her eyes. With one final glance, the doors closed behind them and the sirens wailed as the ambulance sped toward the nearest hospital.

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**Poor guys...I just can't leave them alone O.o Felt like including a little hurt/sick-ish Dean at the end for all you hurt Dean fans :D After all, poor thing probably does have a concussion and a little bit of emotional shock will do some pretty rotten things to you...**


	6. Death Threats and Promises

**Ello!! So I'm usually violently opposed to hospitals in my stories but I couldn't really see a way around it in this particular incident O.o Hopefully its not too bad though!!**

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The low whir and hum of machines was the first thing that drug Sam from the depths of unconsciousness. He laid still, keeping his eyes closed and just listening for a few minutes. A TV had been turned on somewhere, the news report almost too quiet to hear, and there was a soft beeping noise somewhere above him. He was confused; it was like waking up in a strange house and having that moment of panic where you forget how you'd gotten there. He was laying down and obviously had been ofr a while, judging by the stiffness in his back and shoulders. His fingers clenched involuntarily and a dull pain radiated form his wrist. _Oh…the hunt…the diner…Dean…_Sam opened his eyes slowly, blinking up to the white paneled ceiling above him. _Hospital…damn…_

"Well good morning, sunshine." A voice greeted from somewhere to his right.

Sam turned his head slowly, wincing at the stiffness in his neck. Dean sat by his bedside in a plastic hospital chair, arms crossed over his chest. He was still wearing the same clothes from that night but the baseball cap was gone, replaced by a thick layer of gauze that covered the gash in his head. An ugly bruise could be seen forming beneath the bandage but it had been cleaned and covered so that was a plus. "Nice of you to join us." Dean quipped but the relief was evident in his voice. He had dark circles under his eyes like he hadn't slept in a few days and the shadow a stubble across his jaw line. He leaned a little closer to the bed, looking Sam up and down carefully. "How do you feel?"

Sam blinked, pondering the question for a minute. He was wiped out, tired and sore, but other than that he felt peachy. "I'm alright." He said, his voice cracking a little as he spoke. He tried to clear his throat, the dryness in the back making it feel like sandpaper, but that only made it worse. He coughed faintly, wincing as the sensation just intensified. A glass of water appeared next to him and Sam took it, downing the contents quickly. He took a deep breath and sighed, closing his eyes for a second. "Thanks…"

"No problem." Dean said, taking the glass and setting it on the bedside table. There was a five second silence before he tore into Sam. "Sammy, what the fuck where you thinking?!" He demanded, eyes narrowing on his little brother as he spoke. "You slice through a vein or two during a hunt and you didn't think to tell me?!"

Sam looked down at the cotton bedspread and shrugged uselessly. "I didn't think it was that bad…I mean everything happened so fast and-"

"Yeah, well what about after the bitch was gone and you were slowly bleeding to death inside your jacket?! That wasn't happening very fast."

"Dean, I didn't want-"

"What Sam?" Dean snapped, his voice raising a little. "You didn't want to mention it even though you knew it was serious?! You didn't want to admit that that ghost bitch had gotten a lucky hit?!" Dean anger was rising; he tended to curse more the angrier he got.

"No, I just-"

"You just what?!"

Sam sighed, scrubbing his uninjured hand across his face. "I didn't want to worry you, alright?!" He could be snappy too if he wanted. Dean wanted answers so bad but he wasn't staying quiet long enough for Sam to provide them. It was a large scale pain in the ass. "I didn't want to say anything because I knew if I did we'd have to go to a hospital and we'd have to call Dad…" He sighed heavily and looked away, not able to meet his older brother's gaze for a the moment. "Dean, this was our first solo hunt…I knew it meant a lot to you , man, and I didn't want to be the one to mess that up…" He laughed humorlessly and picked at the bedspread. "I mean, did you really think Dad was going to let us go off alone again if I ended up in the hospital…?"

Dean was silent for a minute, his green eyes clouded with a variety of emotions. Finally, he sighed and leaned back in the chair. "Sam…You're my little brother, worrying kinda comes with the territory. And as far as not wanting to tell me because of Dad, well…"He pointed to the bandage across his forehead and shrugged. "Sorry kiddo, but we were going to be in the same boat regardless." There was a pregnant pause before he continued. "Besides, hiding and injury from your older brother hardly ever works. Especially when it leaves you damn near bleeding to death in a diner bathroom stall…"

Sam frowned and shook his head. "Come on man, I wasn't that bad…"

"Not that-?!" Dean nearly shouted, cutting himself off before he could finish the sentence. He looked toward the door as if expecting someone to come in before looking back at the bed. "Sammy…"He said and Sam immediately felt a chill go through him at the seriousness in his brother's voice. "You coded on the way to the hospital…It took them two minutes to get you back…"

Sam felt like he'd just swallowed a ball of lead. He blinked several times, looking between the bandages on his wrists to the machines to Dean. "I…I coded…? You mean I died…?!"

Dean didn't say anything but the look in his eyes said everything he wouldn't. There was sadness, guilt, and most of all failure. He'd failed to protect Sam and his negligence had nearly gotten him killed.

"Dean…I…"Sam tried but nothing came to mind. What could he say? I'm sorry for almost dying and making you watch seemed somewhat inappropriate. For lack of anything better to say, Sam simply reached out and grabbed his brother's hand, squeezing it hard.

Dean returned the squeeze and then leaned forward, gathering Sam into a tight hug. He held on for a long time, concentrating on the rhythm of Sam's heartbeat against his shoulder and the way he breathed. He never wanted to be that close to losing his brother again; the very idea was too horrible to think about. Finally, he let go, blinking rapidly to hide the sting of tears that had suddenly appeared in his eyes.

Sam smiled softly and leaned back against the pillows, looking toward the window briefly. It was mid-morning, probably around 10 am. "So what did you tell the doctors?" He asked, knowing they usually had to make up some pretty strange excuses to explain their even stranger injuries.

Dean smiled briefly and glanced up to the TV. "I told them we were making some repairs to our roof and you slipped."

"They bought that?"

"No, they thought you did it yourself. Self-inflicted injuries. They wanted to put you on suicide watch."

Sam chuckled. "What did you tell them?"

"I told them that if I ever caught you trying to commit suicide I'd kill you myself."

Sam laughed again. "And then what did they say?"

Dean smirked and glanced toward the door. "They wanted to post a security guard in front of your door in case I decided to go through with my promise."

Sam looked at the door, his eyes widening slightly. "Is there really a guard out there?"

"Nah." Dean shrugged and crossed his arms back over his chest. "It was just an idea." He smirked and leaned back, looking toward the window as well. "I did have to call Dad."

Sam winced internally, fearing that had happened. "What did he say?"

"Well, he was pretty pissed but he was glad everything went alright, more or less. He said we shouldn't torch the house next time though…"

Sam smiled and looked at the bedspread again.. "Yeah, that might have been overkill…"

"It was worth it and you know it." Dean laughed. He leaned forward and patted Sam's leg. "Look, no more hiding things alright? If we're going to be doing this full time we need to watch each other's backs, got it?"

Sam smiled and nodded. "Got it."

"Good. I'd hate to have to really go through with that threat."

"You wouldn't kill me. You love me."

"You're a pain in the ass."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

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**Yay!! Hope you all liked it!! Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story!! :D**


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